


as a sun upon which it is possible to stare

by vivacissimo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Characters, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Group Sex, Married Sex, Misogyny, Much homoeroticism but nothing explicitly gay sadly, Multi, Pregnancy, Protective Older Brothers, Step-parents, Weddings, good parenting, the best kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivacissimo/pseuds/vivacissimo
Summary: Rhaegar is a lover of beauty, and Lyanna is effortlessly beautiful. But there are moments where she transcends even herself.Or, six times that Rhaegar's entire world consisted of nothing but one woman.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Rhaegar Targaryen, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark (mentioned), Elia Martell/Arthur Dayne (mentioned), Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen/Arthur Dayne (mentioned), Lyanna Stark/Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen (mentioned), Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	as a sun upon which it is possible to stare

**Author's Note:**

> title bastardized from proust. "6 times rhaegar thought lyanna was so beautiful he had a heart attack" was more accurate but lacked the overly romantic spirit.

**_In the grey of steel and smoke_ **

Rhaegar played soccer with Brandon all four years of high school, and memorably went head to head with him for the captain position in their third year. Brandon enjoyed the competition significantly less than he did, largely because he lost to Rhaegar in the end. Before that, they ran in similar circles, and after that, they begrudgingly came to a truce in the interest of being able to participate in various illegal behaviours around each other. Class solidarity, what can he say. Not that he partakes much these days, because fatherhood will do that to you.

In all that time, one rule has been crystal clear: Brandon’s sister Lyanna is off-limits. For context, Rhaegar once offered to tutor Lyanna for a High Valyrian class she was afraid of failing. At the end of their third session, Rhaegar hugged Lyanna prior to leaving her home. They had to meet in the library after that. At Brandon’s university graduation party, Lyanna was drunk and kissed him for no reason, and Rhaegar left that event with a black eye. He could go on, but the message has been made abundantly clear. 

And yet, it appears he needs to be taught this lesson one more time. Because sitting alone at the hotel bar is Lyanna Stark herself, wrapped in a shimmery winter grey sequin dress that the chandelier lighting reflects off of in a million different directions. Her shoulders are bare and trembling, which, paired with her impossibly wide eyes, gives off an aura of such divine delicacy that Rhaegar physically cannot tear his eyes away. Surely Joan of Arc herself could not have appeared more beautiful, even as she cast off mortal judgement and turned her eyes to the heavens for the final time, resplendent in her faith and her armor. His legs take him to her of their own accord.

“Having a rough night?” he asks, requiring at least a quarter of his concentration capacity to bar himself from reaching out soothe her with his hands. She lets out a watery laugh, and shivers particularly hard. Alright, half of his concentration.

“I’m sure you’ve heard,” she replies, breezy but not dismissive. Not only has he heard, he physically helped to drag a belligerently drunk Robert Baratheon into an Uber earlier after the altercation which ended with Robert on his knees clutching at his privates, and Lyanna in the state she is now. Which, if Brandon is still dishing out black eyes, there seems to be an obvious starting point. Instead, said protective older brother is engaged in conversation with Richard Lonmouth, and glowering at Rhaegar for his presumption in approaching Lyanna. Brandon has always seen Rhaegar as a bit of a slut, an opinion his and Elia’s brief non-monogamous marriage certainly did not change.

“I did. I feel I must apologize for what you have been going through with cousin Robert. Your distaste for him has always been evident, and that it escalated to an incident such as this...is unacceptable,” he tells her, meaning it. Women’s suffering enrages Rhaegar. Yes, he’s probably projecting the helplessness he felt growing up with his mother, but he is also of the firm belief that not every little thing needs to be psychoanalyzed. She hums, looks him in the eye then. It reminds him how young she is. “Would you like a drink?” he asks, noting that her hands remain in her lap.

“I do, but this isn’t an open bar, and I forgot my ID at home,” she responds honestly. He smiles encouragingly, turns to the bartender, “a glass of champagne for myself and the lady. Also a fresh bowl of nuts,” he orders, calling on an old memory of a constantly full flute in her hand from Brandon’s graduation party. He gives the server his card, and, upon taking the seat next to her, promptly forgets himself. He raises his hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. This same hand comes to a gentle rest on the brown skin of her exposed shoulder, which he then rubs his thumb over to ease her remaining trembles. She tilts her head so that her cheek rests on his hand and smiles at him, which treats him to the sight of her dimples.

Looking back, if he had to pinpoint the moment where he made the transition from being overly fond of Lyanna to being a thrall to her every wish, this is likely it. He nudges his seat closer to her, bringing them firmly into each other’s orbit, at which time the champagne and nuts arrive and the moment is lost. She partakes easily, and they speak easily, flirting in a way they’ve never been able to before. After ten minutes of this, Brandon snaps, and starts to make his way over. Lyanna notices, holds her hand out to him. “Your phone, please,” she requests, and he complies. After she puts her number in and texts herself, she rises from her seat. It’s good that he remains sitting, because this is the perfect height for her to rest her hands on his shoulders and kiss him softly on the cheek. Her hands flee his body as quickly as they arrived, and she meets Brandon where he’s glaring at Rhaegar over Lyanna’s head. Rhaegar employs a blank stare, keeping his expression purposely unreadable. The heat from an overprotective big brother is nothing compared to the searing sensation of his phone in his hand, priceless and precious now that it has Lyanna’s number in it.

**_In the blue of waves and crests_ **

When they fall in love, they run away to Dorne. _I need to get some of this out of my system,_ he had explained to Elia and Arthur, who would be caring for Rhaenys for the time being. Which doubled as an opportunity for them to engage in some domestic bliss should they ever let go of their Dornish pride long enough to fall into each other’s arms. _I just need to immerse myself in her so I can stop thinking about her all the goddamn time._

They had nodded indulgently, and discussed the appropriate video call schedule to ensure he was present for Rhaenys even if he was not physically there. To that end, he’d bought electronic copies of Rhaenys’s favorite stories, as well as some new ones Elia recommended, so that he could share his screen with her while reading bedtime stories. Arthur had gotten a kick out of the whole thing, but Arthur had also been devoted to Rhaegar for almost their entire lives with no signs of stopping, so he was not one to talk.

He dyes his hair before leaving for Dorne with Lyanna, a necessary precaution even with the security he’s bringing with them. Lyanna pouts but then promptly decides she likes it. That’s his woman, always making the most of any given situation.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her mouth for the countless time that day, while they stand in line at the grocery. “I love you,” he pronounces into her throat as she reads while lying on a beach towel, surrounded by the sun and the sea and his arms. “I love you,” he says when he forgets what their playful argument was about, just before pulling her into his lap and finishing their dinner like that, wrapped around each other. “I love you,” he gasps as he holds her wrists down against the pillow and fucks her into oblivion, the rhythm of her lover’s song the sweetest music to him. 

“I love you more,” she replies each time, until she tires of the repetition and simply starts sensually swiping her tongue into his eager mouth instead. In moments when she has enough warning before the lust overtakes them, she puts on her playlists in the background of their never-ending lovemaking: heartracing classical and dreamy bedroom pop and deeply mournful jazz to accompany every caress. She’s not much for singing, but she does once while he’s catching his breath in her arms, face pillowed on her chest. It’s almost a child’s song, and his chest aches with the weight of it all. 

The only time they’re apart is when Rhaegar is speaking to his adorable daughter, which was supposed to be in the evening before she goes to bed, but ends up being in the morning, the evening, and possibly in the afternoon if she’s had a particularly exciting day. Rhaenys is just beginning to craft full sentences, so conversations with her always sound hilarious to Lyanna.

“Laugh now, but this will be part of your life soon,” Rhaegar tells her dryly, referencing the plan to introduce Lyanna to his two year old source of sweetness upon their return. Inwardly, he is a complete mess, because Lyanna and Rhaenys are _his girls,_ and if this doesn’t go perfectly then he will lock himself in a tower for the rest of his miserable existence. Lyanna does not share his fears. “And I can’t wait,” she says through a smile so brilliant it ends him, “seeing as I adore her already.” She takes his hand in hers at that and he cannot stop touching her for the rest of the day. It’s overwhelming, and he allows it to wash over him without even attempting to reign himself in. Why should he? She is his to love.

On their last night, Lyanna is up to something. He is already mourning their return, but finds her darting around amusing. The surprise turns out be a rooftop empty save for them, the same champagne they shared so long ago, and a pristine bed surrounded by candles for them to fuck on underneath the stars. Littered across the bed are blue rose petals, liberated from the vases full of the winter flowers that he had specifically requested in their suite. When he lays her down, both of them blissfully naked, the full moon illuminates the blue emanating from the soft velvet petals. He can’t resist taking a picture, which turns out quite tasteful, the blueness arranged in her hair like fiery frost, before descending her body to lave at the apex of her until she’s sobbing. Even then, he does not wish to stop, but obliges and lies on his side. She mirrors the movement, and mounts him with one leg thrown high up on his waist, her nipples in line with his mouth. “I love you,” he says as her body tightens around him, encasing him in the wet heat that he never wants to leave. She cradles his face and tells him she loves him more.

On the plane ride home, he brings up the picture on his phone. The picture where she is crowned with flowers and meeting his gaze so headily that the smile on his face dies, replaced by an explosion of his heart in his ribcage.

**_In a hospital gown stitched with love_ **

Jon is born on a Sunday afternoon in early October, in a room where the filtered light shining through the east-facing windows is so golden it casts a halo on everything it touches. The effect is so sublime that it appears as if heaven itself is rising to greet him when he steps foot into the post-delivery room. Then he sees Lyanna, gazing softly at their newborn boy, and there is nothing else after that. She’s glowing, partly from the sun’s reflections catching in her hair and dimples, but even more so from within. The deep satisfaction radiating from her engulfs him, and when their eyes meet his happiness is so complete it reaches far into the future. _Their_ future. As a family. 

He steps out of his shoes so he can fully pull himself onto the bed next to her, needing to be closer to the tiny bundle of new life in his lover’s arms. Rhaegar briefly nuzzles her on the shoulder before nosing at Jon, softly so as to not wake him, just wanting to sense him in every possible manner. Jon opens his eyes nonetheless, incredible grey irises already alight with inquisitiveness. Rhaegar breath leaves him, joy coming over him unbidden. Those are Lya’s eyes. Her hair color, too. Their boy is blessed to have the Stark colouring, because his family is cursed right down to the silver hair strands, and hers is - well, a small army for lack of a better term, and they are all together in this room, laughing and rejoicing as one. Rhaegar’s mother wished to be here, but she remains on bedrest due to her high risk pregnancy, and thus he is the only Targaryen present.

Not the only one, he corrects himself, as Jon parts his lips to loll his little pink tongue around curiously. Jon will never stop opening his mouth in wonder if Rhaegar has anything to do about it. 

Lyanna’s small laugh tears his eyes away from the baby’s to meet hers instead. She is so wiped that words fail her in this moment, but even if she had them, they would be stolen away by the simple magnificence of existing in this hospital bed as new parents. Rhaegar is already a father twice over, but Jon is her _(their)_ first, so of course this has changed everything between them, as children always do. Without a sound, he kisses her forehead lovingly, a moment of worship left at her brow. Jon experimentally thrusts his pink hand into the air, captivating his parents with the gesture as easily as the stars shine. 

“Nothing like it, is there,” Ned interrupts their bubble, a knowing look on his countenance. He’s a recent parent himself, with unfortunately-named Robb having arrived in the cradle only a few months prior. Lyanna and Ned both firmly believe the two infants will be the best of friends, much to the frustration of Ned’s wife Catelyn, who loves Eddard about as much as she despises the rest of the Starks. Rhaegar suspects she will come around, but shares Lyanna’s distaste for the woman. 

A glance at the clock on the wall reminds Rhaegar that Arthur should be escorting three year old Rhaenys to the hospital around now, so she can meet yet another brand new brother he’s giving her. Aegon is still so small, not even a year old, so it doesn’t make sense to bring him just yet. It is still beyond Rhaegar that Aegon and Jon, his children with two vastly different women, are so close in age, but such is life. In the process of figuring out how to introduce a new partner to their successful co-parenting arrangement, he, Lyanna, and Elia had a series of dinners to explore their complex emotions involving each other. Complex emotions had led them all into bed together for a memorable night in which Elia’s newly-discovered bisexuality took no prisoners. Aegon was an unexpected result of that night. Needless to say, many more dinners were had as a result. Only two of them ended in sex, and blessedly none of them resulted in any more pregnancies between Rhaegar and his ex-wife. 

Lyanna coos at the now three hour old infant, and motions to place him in Rhaegar’s arms. But the babe is so small that Rhaegar simply holds him in his hands instead. His head rests on Lyanna’s warm shoulder, which is covered in a green polka-dot hospital robe gifted by Lyanna’s friend Domeric, whose obsessive devotion to his childhood rival has resulted in the influx of maternity clothing gracing their closet. Lyanna is the sister Domeric always wishes he had, as he’s told her a multitude of times, and so the fact that he added a sustainable maternity line to his already successful brand just because Lya got pregnant was extremely appreciated and yet, somehow unsurprising.

 _“Avy jorrāelan,”_ Rhaegar whispers with his lips to Jon’s soft head, eyes closed. Tears of elation have started to traitorously leak out of him, which he hides behind Lyanna because they’re private, damnit, not because of the toxic masculinity Elia and Lyanna regularly accuse him of exhibiting. “It’s so sweet when you’re shy,” she murmurs to him, before mouthing at Jon’s chubby cheek. Jon gurgles, eyes heavy with sleep, but every other part of his delightful face moving and learning. Rhaegar kisses her mouth then, a gentle prolonged thing that has Benjen whistling at them and Brandon throwing a granola bar wrapper in mock disgust. 

“The way you look right now is the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in my entire life,” he tells her, ignoring the riff raff around them. For all he and the Starks have their differences, a room full of people who love Lyanna is a room he is honored to be in. Her grey eyes dance with tears as she regards him, sincere as sincere can be. So he doesn’t stop, continues, “and you’re going to be the most wonderful mother. You already are.” 

**_In the white of joy that comes at last_ **

Waiting to marry until Jon is old enough to attend their wedding is the kind of idea that Rhaegar agreed to with words, but then at once retreated to pen furious journal entries about. Or he would have if he were of the type to keep a journal. In truth, every day that he and Lyanna remain unmarried has felt like a heart wrenching failure for him. It gives the impression that he is not as single mindedly devoted to her as he is, an impression Brandon had taken gleefully until Robert Baratheron adopted it as well and revamped his pursuit of Lyanna. Then the humor was lost, and several man-to-man moments were had.

“It’s her who won’t marry me,” he had tried, almost pleadingly. Brandon had reacted with a look of pure disgust. 

_“Papa,_ look!” comes a voice from beneath him, and Rhaenys tugs on his pant leg for good measure. While the bachelor party hangover from three days ago had blessedly faded, a headache has remained since, and he cringes at the seven year old’s yelling. Volume control is something they are working on. When he looks down though, there is a small bundle of black fur in the basket with the rose petals that Rhaenys will be sprinkling as a flower child. He is now extremely glad she came to him, because how in the fuck was she allowed her to bring the kitten to the Sept? Against much protest, Rhaenys is parted from Balerion, and as a result he is running late. One teenage shotgun marriage, followed by years spent yearning to wed his lover, did not prepare him for any of this.

It certainly did not prepare him for the way he and Lyanna would be at odds for the first time. They disagreed over a million little things when it came to planning, and premarital counseling is the only thing that got them to this respectable little affair instead of eloping as Lyanna had proposed at every minor inconvenience. He loves her. But fuck knows she spits in the face of tradition whenever she can. In her mind, he was already her husband, and had been since the night on that rooftop in Dorne. “Didn’t it feel like we became something more than ourselves that night? It felt like a consummation to me. Like you belonged to me after that,” she had said, so earnest in her words that he had almost given in. 

“We’ve had a hundred conversations about this. You’ve told me you want a real wedding. You know it would mean the world to me for us to have that. I understand planning is stressful, but this will only happen once in our lives,” he had almost begged her, to which she had ultimately agreed, and they had fallen back into silent contemplation. Which they had been doing a lot of lately, in the place of ripping each other’s clothes off. They were both exhausted, Rhaegar knew, but intimacy had always been a great source of bonding and communication between them, so the sooner this was all put behind them the better.

“You look gorgeous,” Arthur teases, after entering the dressing room. Jon, or Griff as they’ve started to call him now that Rhaegar has a Jon of his own, follows Arthur, and the awe in his eyes informs Rhaegar that he does, in fact, look gorgeous. 

“Shall we depart, then,” he asks, reaching into his pockets and handing two ring boxes to Arthur. They assent, and Rhaegar takes his place at the steps of the cavernous Sept, where he will become Lyanna’s husband in law. The stress begins to fall away when Rhaenys comes out in the pantsuit she’d preferred over a dress, holding young Aegon’s hand as they jump throw petals around them. Sweet, serious Jon follows, the rings from Arthur on a pillow that he carries with complete determination. For a second he ceases walking and begins wrinkling his brow, appearing lost, but Rhaegar’s encouraging smile reminds him of his path forward. Once his children are sitting in their seats between Benjen and Rhaella, the music begins that has him closing his eyes lest he shed tears. 

He has been _waiting_ for this moment for _years._ Waiting isn’t the correct term - he has been _longing_ for it. 

And now there is no more time to waste. He opens his eyes. Lyanna is all he can see. In a gown of white, her perfect shoulders bare once more, and a blue accented bouquet in front of her. Her grin stretches wide across her face, satisfying his deep belief that she desired this as much as he always has. She strides towards him, arm in Rickard’s, just because she loves him. It’s so easy to see, and it’s so easy to love her in return. After everything, with the future he has exercised immense patience in waiting for rapidly embracing the present, Rhaegar is forced to the drop the facade and cry. It has Arthur handing him a handkerchief and Lyanna’s perfect laughter echoing off of the stained glass. 

**_In the red of the deepest desires_ **

Rhaella insists on hosting a party for their first anniversary, in the old Valyrian custom of only welcoming a daughter into the family after a child has been produced. Obviously that ship sailed many years ago, but this is Rhaella's wish nonetheless. With Aerys committed, and Viserys and Dany in a healthy place called therapy, she is finally free to take flights of fancy. Rhaegar feels as if he is meeting his mother for the first time.

He flies in directly from Highgarden where he negotiated the contract for ready-made nutritious meals to be provided to low income students, beginning as a pilot in Flea Bottom and hopefully expanding outwards once all the kinks are all worked out. The Tyrells are leading producers of genetically modified foodstuff, and must do an exorbitant amount of philanthropy to conceal their deeply unethical business practices when it comes to farmers unions. The idea is to combat malnutrition in the short-term, but combined with grants for local community grocers to develop storefronts in food deserts in the long-term. Not really Rhaegar’s field of expertise, but the foundation has his and Lya’s names on it, so one of them needed to be present. 

Now, though, he stops off at Arthur and Elia’s to get ready as well to see Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon. Elia is staying home to watch all the children, but he missed his babies, and also their place is more on the way to the Targaryen estate.

“Can we pleeeeease do a sleepover,” Aegon, the sole worshiper at the altar of Viserys, needles at him. 

“No, my love, not tonight,” he regretfully says, “tonight Muna and Papa are going to a party for grown-ups, and then tomorrow we will have fun family time.” Muna is Aegon and Rhaenys’s name for Lyanna, because Elia is already their Mama. Jon had called her that for a while to, but ultimately reverted to Mama for Lyanna, and Aunt El for Elia. It works out.

Aegon pouts, but his sweet natured son doesn’t hold onto anger for very long. Rhaegar loves on them a bit more, before taking a shower, getting dressed, and sliding into a car with Arthur.

 _What color are you wearing_ he texts Lyanna while Arthur drives, just to talk. Their real anniversary is tomorrow, and they have a fairly full day with the children planned, followed by dinner alone. 

_Wouldn’t you like to know_ she replies, immediately following with _here’s what I’m wearing underneath_ and an attached picture of her tits barely encased in a maroon meshy bra. He can see her nipples, as well as hint of her rib tattoo through the material. He discreetly adjusts the screen to make sure Arthur can’t see, although all of them have seen each other naked multiple times. Turns out Elia’s not alone and they’re all somewhat bisexual. It’s a nice arrangement.

 _you’re sexy_ , is his response. They haven’t seen each other in a week. There’s a non-zero chance he’ll fuck her in his childhood bedroom tonight. 

“You two are criminally horny,” Arthur says, smirking at Rhaegar’s obvious flush. 

“Mind your business,” Rhaegar huffs in response, and goes back to sexting his wife. _I have a surprise for you_ is her last text to him before he arrives and puts his phone away. He’s fully prepared to put her over his knee at this point, but stops short when he sees her. 

The blood red of House Targaryen encases Lyanna, a sheer long-sleeved knee length number with delicate black embroidery in the Valyrian artistic style. The skin he can see is so smooth it practically glints, and the deep red across her lips is just the same shade as her dress. When he kisses her for a bit too long in front of everyone, there’s laughter and a toast to their marriage. He participates as best he can, but Lya also didn’t move his hand off her ass when it landed there earlier, so he spends his time rubbing her waist and backside until she crosses her legs in defeat. 

“Was this your surprise,” he says, muffled against her mouth as they crowd into his old room, maintained even though he stays here barely once a year. She looks disoriented, so he helps her out, “from your text, baby. You said you had a surprise for me.” Her mouth makes a little “o” and she pushes herself off of him to sit on the bed. She kicks her heels off and smiles coyly at him before taking his hand in hers and laying it on her stomach. Rhaegar is a smart man.

“You’re serious,” he says, jaw slack in surprise.

“Yes, _daddy_ ,” is her laughed response, “and it’s a girl. I dreamed it.” She reaches to his belt after that and he’s helpless to stop her. 

**_In nothing at all_ **

Every year in Elia’s honor, the foundation hosts a fundraising night to keep Elia’s beloved Water Gardens in comfortable financial straits. The Gardens provide quality medical care at no cost to children all over Dorne, and are essential to the region’s continued success in combating health inequity. Elia practically lived at the Gardens during her own sickly childhood. During her lifetime, Elia was a major sponsor. The Martells still are, but Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Arthur have all agreed the kids should have a hands on manner of participating in El’s memory, which the fundraising night is one part of. Rhaenys is auctioning off harp lessons in the silent auction, Jon helped put together the montage of interviews with patients that will be on view, and Aegon - Aegon started fundraisers in his lacrosse league, chess club, and tennis club. Daena, barely five, made no contributions and is staying with Rhaella tonight. All in all, he believes Elia would be overjoyed.

But during the entire day leading up to the event, he can’t pin down Lyanna. She is clearly upset, but not with him, or else she wouldn’t be avoiding him. When he goes to speak to Rhaenys about the set-up of the silent auction, she has trouble meeting his eyes in the way she usually does when she’s feeling guilty. The picture is becoming clearer, but he would prefer to hear it from Lyanna rather than 14-year old Rhaenys. It’s important that, as her parental figures, if an apology is in order, they either present it or accept it as a united front. He consults Arthur, who is an uncle to all of his children, but Rhaenys is particularly close to him. They share the Dornish look and their memories of Elia.

Once the event begins, and Oberyn has taken over the speaking responsibilities, Rhaegar seeks her out. “Lya,” he starts, and she blanches, “Lya, I know something happened between you and Rhaenys. Do you mind telling me what?”

Lyanna’s lower lip quivers and she breathes for a minute. “Not here,” she says, touching his chest as she pushes past him to continue her wooing of potential donors. She dodges him for the rest of the evening, which exceeds it’s monetary goals. Eddard and Catelyn are supposed to take all the kids from there so they can spend the weekend in the country as cousins, an annual Stark ritual. Rhaegar corners Rhaenys, and asks her if she’s sure she wants to go after all. She has never felt fully at home at this event, a Stark by association only, but attends regardless. She hugs him tightly, and he returns the embrace twofold.

“Yes, I will go. _Avy jorrāelan, Papa,”_ she says, face buried in his chest. _My sweet girl_ , Rhaegar thinks as he assures her of his love, and that he will not hesitate to pick her up should she wish to leave earlier. Before she leaves his arms completely, she gnaws at her lip a bit, debating whether or not to say something. He encourages her with a smile, and she goes for it, “and can you tell Muna I’m sorry, and that I didn’t mean it?” Surprised, he nods. “Rhaenys-” he starts, but she shakes her head. “No, I know I have to speak to her, I just need a few days.”

“Alright, _ñuha riña,_ I will tell her so. But remember to have a good time. There will be time to speak when you return,” he reassures her, and she smiles and nods. He bids the same to his other children, giving Jon and Aegon matching kisses on the forehead. Lyanna hugs them both heartily, and thanks Ned again for his generosity in hosting the children. She extends the same to Catelyn, but the bad blood between the two women is well known. 

She turns to him then. He stops her from speaking, and leads her to the elevator and to a suite on the top floor that he requested for them once it became clear that they desperately need to talk. It’s not like his wife to keep things from him, nor he from her. 

“Before you speak,” Rhaegar says, taking off his shoes and jacket to sit on a balcony chair, “Rhaenys wanted me to tell you that she apologizes, and that she did not mean what she said.” Lyanna visibly deflates. “So what did she say, my love?”

“We were just speaking about some logistics in the event. We disagreed, and I upset her by not letting her have that creative control. She told me,” and Lyanna blinks rapidly from where she’s sitting across from him, “that I wasn’t her mother, that I could never be Elia, and that she hated me. I followed our script and told her those words were cruel, and that she should take an hour to rethink them. But she just looked at me with so much _hate_ in her eyes, and said that she wished I died instead of Elia, because Elia never treated Jon like garbage like I treat her.” Lyanna is full-on sobbing at this point, and Rhaegar’s heart goes out to her. 

“Oh, my love,” Rhaegar sighs, pulling her into his lap as he has innumerable times before. He kisses her hair and runs his hands up and down her back in the manner that pleases her. Eventually, she quiets in his arms, and raises her face to his. After searching his eyes, she kisses him deeply, reaching into him for strength willingly offered. He carries her into the bedroom then, and they both strip quickly before closing any gap between them. They make love fervently, whispering sweet nothings that are punctuated by deep moans and staccato breathing. When it’s over, Lyanna is utterly spent. She would cry if she had tears left, he knows this, but she just doesn’t.

“I have never wished to replace her, Rhaegar. I know I cannot. Is it selfish, though, that I want to be a mother to her children regardless?” she whispers into his neck. She pushes herself up on her arms then, leaning over him. Her hair is a bird's nest, her makeup is practically scrubbed off, and her body is bare to him. 

Emotionally and physically, Lyanna is completely naked in front of him. 

He sits up to meet her. He cards his hand through her hair and pulls her face to his so their mouths might make love. He runs a delicate touch across her skin, worshiping at the stretch marks along her hips. He stretches her legs out and presses the stress from walking all evening in heels out of her feet. By the time he’s finished, she is as clay underneath his hands. He plays her with his fingers until she peaks, massaging her back and neck in the process so that she is truly powerless to her orgasm.

They collapse after that. She doesn’t repeat her question, because there aren’t always answers in a family such as theirs, only a promise to always give their best.

Lyanna gave him a gift this evening: a reminder of what is sacred, which is the trust and love between them. He thinks nothing in the world is more beautiful than that.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i made jon a libra. he deserves it. i'm willing to accept him being capricorn-dominant, but that righteous self-loathing is too sexy for him to be a cap sun. just my opinion.
> 
> also, it lowkey felt unfeminist to write a story where elia is mentioned so prominently without having her speak. but this is a rhaegar pov, and if they spoke i'd have wanted to dissect their relationship entirely, which would take years.


End file.
